


Beacons Of Hope

by RagingBookDragon



Category: DCU (Comics)
Genre: Christmas, Christmas Fluff, Fluff, Heartwarming
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-25
Updated: 2019-12-25
Packaged: 2021-02-26 04:07:40
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 658
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21963319
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RagingBookDragon/pseuds/RagingBookDragon
Summary: Damian isn't too happy about Bruce dragging him out of the manor, but Bruce has a surprise he wants to show his youngest child.
Kudos: 20





	Beacons Of Hope

**Author's Note:**

> Just a bit of heartwarming family fluff and a good father and son bond for Christmas. From my Tumblr, 'RagingBookDragon'. I hope you enjoy!

There’s a moment of hesitation bolting through him the moment he flips up over the ledge, feet landing silently along the concrete rooftop. His training deems him cautious as he scans the open, and his eyes narrow behind the mask as he sees his father standing across on the other side. He takes his time stalking over, admitting begrudgingly to himself that the man in front of him knows he’s there; in all honestly, he probably knew where he was the moment he entered Old Gotham. He’s about an arm’s length behind his father when he hears, “I almost didn’t think you’d show up.” His feet carry him until he’s standing beside him; he doesn’t look up, instead directing his gaze to the city before him as he scoffs,  
  
“You’re lucky I did,” He pauses a moment, curling the cape tight around his shoulders, careful to make sure his arms are covered too; he’d lost feeling in his finger’s hours ago. “It’s freezing out here.” Finally, he casts his gaze up to the man, glaring at the white slits in his mask behind his own mask. “Why are we out here and not at the manor?” He jerks his hand back, pointing towards the direction of their home, seething with barely contained rage. “Richard promised to show me how to make gingerbread houses with Todd and Drake.” He waits in an impatient fashion for his father to speak, foot tapping against the cement rooftop. When the man does, his voice isn’t what he thought it would be; rather, its calm and collected, almost wonderous.  
  
“There’s a lot of bad in this world Damian…a lot of things we see that we can’t forget when we close our eyes…things that remind us why we do what we do every night.” His father turns, staring down at the boy, a small smile on his face. “But there’s also a lot of good in the world…and even the villains in Gotham take the holidays off from crime.” He reaches up, gently carding his hand through Damian’s hair as he murmurs, “And that means that we can take the holidays off too.” Damian knows his father is waiting for something, but he can’t seem to put his finger on what it is, so he does the only thing he can; pester until his father caves.  
  
“You’ve got me here for a reason father. I expect it to be a good one or else I will be angry.” There’s no mistaking the derisiveness in his father’s reaction, and he bristles when he hears the chuckle, lips curling into a snarl as he growls, “You are mocking me father! I will not stand for-” His voice falls short as a flash burns bright in his peripheral, and he twists his head to gawk at the sight of the tower lighting up. Colors swim across the building in shows of evergreen and crimson, corners and edges laced with gold and silver, and when they reach the top of the tower, curling around the lettering ‘Wayne Enterprises’ in the center, they shimmer. Falling over is about all Damian can manage not to do as his shoulders droop, mouth falling open as he stares in awe of the glowing tower before him, lit up like a beacon of hope in the dark. A hand rests on his head, and he slowly turns to look back up at his father, now bathed in the light; his father gives him a smile that’s part prideful, the other part sincere as he wishes,  
  
“Merry Christmas Damian.” The small boy looks back at the tower, taking in the sight in all it’s beauty. He’s quiet for a moment, trying to find the right words to say that would convey his emotions accurately enough; when he finds them, he shifts silently until he’s pressed into his father’s side, arms curling around his waist, then he returns softly,  
  
“Merry Christmas Father.”


End file.
